Stormy Weather
by GingerRoseLee
Summary: When an early-season snowstorm strikes New York City, John and Joss are forced to weather it out at her brownstone overnight. Whatever could two people who have a latent attraction for one another possibly get up to as the storm goes on? A/U, S1-3.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: A bout of chilling cold and rain over the past week made this one come to mind. Early goings, folks, early goings.**

The unexpected November snowstorm barrelled through New York City like a devil unleashed. It was as if every kind of nasty weather event that could happen did, and all at the same time. Snow that was projected to fall at an inch an hour as time went on also couldn't quite sit still, as it turned from freezing rain and wind to heavy snow. And while it had taken the region by surprise, there was no mistaking the duration: all day into the next afternoon. The city was at a near standstill.

All of the city, save for a few crazy souls—one of which included an intrepid vigilante who, dressed in his best Army-issued winter gear—snowsuit, thermal gloves, night vision goggles, thermal hiking boots—pushed his vehicle through blinding conditions to save a number who had been targeted by a foreign security operative with loose ties to the Russian mob, who hadn't decided to take the weather into account, postponing the hit until the streets were cleared. While it was something of a trial to get the job done in such conditions, Reese dispatched the operative with a clean shot to the head, as kneecapping him turned out to not be the best course of action, given his skill and prowess, even in the snow. While killing the operative was unfortunate, Reese was nothing if not resourceful; dispatching the body, while setting the scene to make it come out like an unsolvable murder. Such a task was not problematic for him, professional killer that he was.

But even professional killers in Army Ranger gear had their limits. It would only be a little while longer before the cold, wind, and rain would get to him from mere exposure to the elements for extended periods. And the thickening snow on the horizon was out of the question. His clothing was more than adequate for his current purpose—but he knew he had to get his all-terrain vehicle out of there, and to somewhere warm before trouble set in—and he was stuck in it.

After hiding the body in a pile of recently shoveled snow deep enough to count, near a hotel's back dumpster site for later, and after betting that the blowing wind would cover his tracks, he reentered his vehicle. With the turn of the ignition and a quick warm up, he headed to the one place nearby where he knew he could find a certain kind of sanctuary. It was a place he knew well—perhaps better than he ought to.

##

"How's he doing, Mama?"

"Oh, you know that son of yours. Can't tear him away from that NFL Madden game he plays all the time. And eating me out of house and home! But I'm glad he's here."

"I am, too, Mama. You'll take good care of each other."

"What about you, Jocelyn? How you getting home in this mess?"

"I can't drive it, Mama. Won't take that chance. But the subway stations are still running somehow. I'll hop a train, and pray they're shoveling the stairwells."

"There's nowhere you can camp out at the police station? I don't know if I like the idea of you out there, Jocelyn. So dangerous!"

Joss chuckled at her mother's concern. "Mama, I'm at the police station now because I work here. I'm a cop. 'Dangerous' is the name of my game. I'll be fine. As long as my baby is okay, that's all that matters."

"Well, you're my baby, and you matter, too. Keep me posted when you get home. I mean it, Jocelyn. Call me when you get home."

"Will do, Mama. I love you."

"You too, baby. I'd tell your son to come and talk to you, but I can't tear him away from that video game."

Joss laughed in full this time. "That's okay, Mama. It's the same at home. Just give him a kiss and my love for me. And be safe. Bye, Mama."

Joss disconnected the phone call and took a deep breath. Looking at the window, the flakes and wind did their worst in the early evening sky. Her shift was over, and while she didn't relish the idea of tramping out into that mess, she relished even less the idea of spending the night in the precinct. No privacy, no decent food—and the chance that she'd get called back on duty—all made her decision for her. Besides, the subway was close to the 8th, and she only had to go four stops before she got out onto her own block.

But that was under normal conditions. No telling what hell she'd encounter in this case. Taking yet another deep breath, she shut off her computer and got her things together hurridly, making sure she wouldn't catch the eye of the captain, who was already scrambling to pull beat cops for extra shifts. She'd take her chances with the snow.

The spare pair of wellie boots she'd kept at the bottom of her desk for rainy stakeouts would be her friends in this mess. At least, she hoped they would. Trading in her black pumps for them, she grimaced, crossed her fingers, and got ready to tackle the elements.

##

He'd picked the locks of this place several times before, but those times were always in perfectly good weather. On this occasion, however, the rapidly blowing snow and dropping temps proved more of a challenge. For one thing, the ice cold made his pick blade stick inside the front door jamb, and he'd almost resigned himself to trying his luck through a window, when finally, on that last attempt, the door to Detective Carter's brownstone swung open, almost as if personally inviting the intruder in.

As he crossed the threshold, careful not to be seen, as well as not get snow past the welcome mat, he thought about the detective and how she was faring in this rapidly deteriorating situation. The 8th Precinct was only a twenty minute drive from the brownstone she shared with her teenage son, Taylor, and on any other day, that would have been no issue at all, save for wayward ambulance drivers, and tourists in rental cars not knowing how to deal with the terrain of New York City traffic. But she'd be a damn fool to try and drive through this stuff, that normal commute of twenty minutes easily taking two or more hours, her stuck in a car, God knowing what insanity of crazy New York drivers and icy conditions would bring.

Hopefully, she'd catch a lift with someone who could handle the elements, or she was smart to go through the subway. That wasn't ideal either, but at least the snow was not so deep yet that it would make a subway trek from that short a distance impossible. He considered calling her to see if she was all right. But then, if she were on her way home, they'd meet up soon enough. Besides, he wasn't sure how exactly she'd take the news of him having broken into her home yet again. The last time she almost shot him.

Taking his thick boots off at the door and closing it behind him, he sighed in relief to be out of the storm. The brownstone was immediately warm and inviting, the only sound to be heard, outside the pellets of ice hitting the window panes, was the grandfather clock ticking over the mantlepiece.

"Well, Joss. Looks like it's you and me for the night, whether you like it or not."

Having been prudent to pack an emergency overnighter, he threw his bag of spare clothes, sleeping bag and toiletries on the floor. Afterwards, he removed the rest of his outerwear, found a plastic bag to shove it all in, and ventured to the kitchen. His work on the streets of New York always revved up the ole appetite.

##

"Damn this snow! Of all the crazy weather...Oof!" Joss reached the front door of her brownstone an hour and a half after the leaving the 8th, frost nipped, exhausted and winded, her journey from the subway to her door taking way more out of her than even she expected. But she'd made it. Covered in snow, yes she was, but she'd prevailed. Never had it been so good to see her home in front of her. Saying a prayer of thanks to the good lord, she found her keys in shaky hands and let herself in. Luckily, the snow hadn't reached her porch to the extent that her screen door wouldn't open.

Somehow, in the rush to get inside, once in the door, she missed the wetness already present on her welcome mat.

It was probably just as well, since her leather trench, covered in snow, as well as her winter cap, found themselves on a heap in the space. In her haste to be rid of them, snow found its way almost as far as her bedroom steps.

The ceiling light in her tiny foyer came on with a click, which was fortunate. There was still power. But her feet felt like ice boxes, so getting from the door to the couch would prove difficult, even if she could see where she was going.

She moaned aloud. Her feet throbbed in the boots while she reached down to unzip them. Soon the oppressive leather was off and she hobbled to the couch in relief.

"Oh. Thank you, Jesus," she sighed in relief. "Thank you. Wooo!"

The lamplight next to the couch flickered with the threat of complete shut off with the now-howling winds, but it continued to hold its own. She closed her eyes with the slow down that comes from having endured a stressful situation that was now over, at least for the time-being. Hopefully, that snow wouldn't pile up at the door to the point where she couldn't get out the next day to pick up her son from his grandmother's house. While they had a super who was supposed to take care of that kind of thing, ole Mr. Jenkins was just that—old—and, bless his heart, he didn't always remember to do snow cleanup for the building as he should.

At some point in her warm up, she opened her eyes, her detective senses now on alert. It was quiet in the living room, and nothing was out of place, but for some reason, she felt as if she wasn't quite all alone in her home. Taylor was safe at her mother's, so he wasn't the reason. And besides, it would be much noisier with him there, wanting dinner and telling her about the crazy drive there.

No, it wasn't Taylor. But someone was in her house. A homeless guy might try it, but the NYPD did a pretty thorough job of getting as many homeless folks off the streets and into emergency shelters as they could, even if they missed a few. One or two stragglers might try it—but she doubted it.

Wait... _homeless person_. A firecracker went off in her mind, and she smirked in mock derision as the thought dawned on her more fully. Yes, there was someone in her house—and she knew exactly who that someone was.

Folding her leg over on the couch to rub her sore foot, she waited a minute or so more before she let her intruder know she was wise to his shenanigans.

"John, I thought I told you before that if I caught you breaking into my house again, I'd shoot you for sure."

At the sound of her voice, a shoeless John didn't reveal himself right away. She smiled now, almost breaking into a laugh, knowing that he was remembering the admonishment she now spoke of.

"Come on out, John. I know you're there."

The kitchen floor creaked with the weight of a large male body slowly lumbering across it to stand in front of its accuser. When he appeared to her, he had his hands up, and a sheepish look on his face.

"Good evening, Detective," he said softly, with a hint of that same sheepishness. "How do you take your hot chocolate?"

 **A/N: As I said, early goings. But what will two very attractive close comrades do on a night where they're snowed in at her house, all alone? Well, that's why it's got the rating it does, haha. But that's to come. Have fun and stay warm, Careese friends. BTW, "Missing Reese's" next installment is almost done. John and Joss come back "home" to Colorado from Utah—and it's something. Take care!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: The storm rolls along. John and Joss agree to put up with each other for the duration. Somehow, I doubt that such an arrangement would be a burden to either one of them. Yee haw!**

"How do I take my hot chocolate, John? Alone." She rolled her eyes at his continued audacity in coming and going as he pleased. And he only did it because he could, because he was capable.

But she always had to admit that his abilities were indeed admirable. Even a changed lock and a fancy alarm system were no match for CIA bad ass John Reese.

"Yes, well, after I made it for you I could always go in the other room and hide again while you drank it. However, I hardly think there'd be any fun in that, Detective." Smirk firmly planted. Such an ass.

"What are you doing here, John? And in this weather?"

"Well, that's kind of a long story, Joss."

"I don't see either one of us going anywhere any time soon, do you?"

"No. Not by the sights and sounds of things out there. Jesus, I haven't experienced freak winter like this since I was-"

She raised her eyes in surprise. "Oh, oh is this where you reveal to me something about your childhood, John? Careful, or I might put my Army interrogator cap on again."

"Not all that much to tell, Joss."

"Try me, John."

He smiled at her, closed lipped, his green eyes fixed on her ever so briefly in with an intensity that rattled her a little, before she saw those same green eyes transform with a twinkle as they flickered downcast from her face, then back again."

"Perhaps some other time, Detective. Right now, the milk for the hot chocolate should be just about ready."

As he turned back toward the kitchen, he heard a slight whimper, then a hiss. Looking back, he saw her try to stand on her frost nipped feet, and failing.

"Joss, you okay?" he asked, his brow, covered in a slight shadow lock of hair, furrowed in concern.

"Yeah, I just...the cold is rough out there. I think I got home just in time."

"Hey, let me help with that. I'll just be a minute."

"Oh, what are you gonna do, John? Chase the pain away in fright?" She grinned, inspite of the stinging all over her tooties.

"In a manner of speaking, yes," he replied on the way back to the kitchen to see about the warming milk. Within a minute, he returned with two mugs of steaming liquid on a wicker tray, a small bowl of marshmallows in between them. Placing the tray down on the coffee table, he sat next to Joss, who was still trying to warm up her extremities.

"Those are for Taylor, John. The marshmallows. His favorites. I don't ususally touch them."

"Well, then, more for me," he smiled. "Do you have a dishpan?"

"Why? All you made was cocoa."

"So that I can help you with your little problem. Do you have one? Preferably one you don't put dishes in? We'd need it for the soak and rub."

So what was he suggesting? To bathe her feet for her? She wasn't sure she liked where the imagery now percolating in her mind was leading her. Or...did she? John, the man with the hands of a ruthless killer, whom she knew not to be, turning those hands into instruments of comfort, of relief, of...pleasure. Suddenly, she felt warm in every part of her body but her feet and she shifted slightly while clearing her throat to find her voice.

"No. The only dishpan I have is for the dishes. Thanks anyway, John. But umm...I think, after the cocoa, I'll just—I'll just hobble upstairs for a hot shower. Did you happen to notice if there was still heat in the pipes?"

"Yes, you're fine for that, at least for the time-being. Hopefully, it stays that way."

"Yes. Hopefully."

"Yes," he repeated. Had he now realized what the implications were too?

"Hey, that chocolate smells good. I bet this'll help a lot," she managed to say, now somewhat nervous.

"Here you go. Choco Bunny Chocolate Syrup and hot milk. Taylor has good taste."

"Taylor is fifteen. He has no clue what good taste is. Just wants to be nine still, sometimes. Nestle Quik helps with that."

John laughed at her quip. But soon, he grew quiet and simply, openly stared at her for several seconds before picking up his cocoa cup and motioning her to do that same.

"Come on. Before it gets cold like you are."

Joss let out a sigh. "Okay. That's sounds like a good idea. Thank you—even if you really shouldn't be here, John."

"Well, just put it on the tab of favors I already owe you for."

"I'll be sure to do that, John."

Clinkcing mugs together, they toasted themselves in their time of good fortune for having a warm roof over their heads, a shelter from the hell just outside the windows.

"Cheers, Detective."

"Likewise, John."

##

John watched her as they sank in and drank their cocoa. She seemed to be relaxing a little more, letting her hair down and getting used to the idea of him being there. Playing it cool on that score was about all he could hope to do, though he knew that, since he was already in the house, there was no way Joss would make him leave. That was important—and for more reasons than the several inches of snow that promised to be on the ground by the next morning.

" So, you never told me why you broke into my house yet again. What were you doing out there? Surely Finch didn't have you working on a case."

"People are always in trouble. The numbers never stop coming, Carter."

"Hmm. Maybe you should?"

"Excuse me?" he asked, a bit disconcerted by her question.

"I just mean, John, that you're only one man out there trying to take on the collective needs of, potentially, millions of people. New York is that big, you know. And a whole lot of people live in that bigness. How can you be in so many places at once?"

John sipped his piping hot cocoa. "I'm not, Joss. And we have Shaw now, as well as you and Lionel. Usually that's adequate, on top of what policing already does. I don't need to be in so many places at once. Just aiding and assisting, that's all."

"Oh, okay. Well, you aided and assisted your way back to my house again, without a key, without asking. What if Taylor had been here? What if I'd had plans?"

After a second sip of hot chocolate, John put his cup down, and smirked at her, the gleam in his eye unmistakeably mischevious. "You forget, Detective, that I can hear what you say on the phone. Taylor is at your mother's house, waiting out this storm, so that was taken care of. And as for plans..." He let his voice trail off, so as to spare her the embarrasment of saying out loud that she had no plans. No, she didn't. It was home from the precinct, off with her boots, and a night in front of the TV. Maybe there'd be some popcorn, maybe she might have even gotten adventurous later on with a bubble bath—but other than that, there were no "plans" to speak of for Joss Carter. He knew that, too, from listening in on her calls. Or rather, lack thereof.

And for some reason, that knowledge always pleased him. He didn't want her having "plans" if he were honest with himself. That would mean dating. Other men. Other men to give her attention to besides him. The very idea bothered him immensely. Irrational—and unfair—as it was, it was how he felt. That was just how it was.

"Well, Carter, whatever you might have been up to tonight, this storm put the brakes on that. So, since I wouldn't make it very far in this mess myself to my own place, yours seemed like the most logical way to turn. Was I wrong about that?"

"No," she said, with a frown. "No, you weren't. If you had to be out in this storm, I'm...I'm glad my place was near enough for you to get out of it when the time came." After a pause, she looked at the carpet, then back at him. "Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, what happened with the number? What was it about? Jealous ex-husband? Stolen jewels? I bet whoever the perp was pissed his pants when he saw you coming," she chuckled.

John sat back now on the couch, comfortable in the knowledge that he was indeed there to stay for the duration.

"Not exactly. Guy by the name of Guidy Petrovich. Paid assasin. Ties to the Russians."

"Right. Perfect. Anything to get one of Yogorov's boys off the streets. So, what precinct did you drop him off at before coming here?"

He shifted in his seat and tilted his head nonchalantly. "None. He's covered up in a blanket outside the back of the LaMonte Hotel, off Bleeker. The snow should keep him in good condition for a couple days.

At that point, Joss jumped up. "John! You didn't!"

Bracing himself for the firefight he was about to get, he sighed. "Joss, there was no time to do the right thing. He was sent to kill, as per his orders, and he was formidable enough to do that. I had to take him out. You know how that can happen."

She stood up, whirling on him, the slight tinge of pain from the frost in her feet ignored. "Yes, John. I do. But I also know that you can't just go leaving bodies around the city! What if someone else finds him before you can get back to him? How am I going to hold my tongue about a murder in which the perp is a friend of mine? We've had this conversation before, John. Shit, you even being here now puts me in a compromising position! Oh, Lord..."

"I told you, Carter, there was nothing else to be done for it. No time. I had to put a bullet in his head. Or both the vic and I might not be here to talk about it."

She slowed some. "He was that good?"

He looked at her, matter-of-factly, his big green eyes fixed, demanding her understanding. "Yeah, Joss. He was that good. Trained Russian military. No do overs."

When she continued to be silent, he continued. "I won't apologize for my actions here. You were a soldier once, just like me. And you're a cop now. You understand how this works."

Hands on her hips, she turned away from him and began to walk towards the window. The blinds were only semi pulled, and she could make out the small, fluffy piles of snow accumulating on the sills. It was now night for sure, though the bright whiteness of the snow made it seem earlier.

"Better still," he said behind her, "you understand _me."_

She turned back to him. He still had that fixed stare on her that, even in the dimness of the small lamplight did things to her that she wasn't quite sure she was comfortable with. Usually, in their line of work, there was so much else to focus on that she could submerge those responses to his features. But in the proximity of her home, the intimate space of her living room, that wasn't so easy to do. He was a beautiful man. In more ways than one, he was a beautiful man.

She took a breath and ran a hand from her forehead through her now partly-frizzy hair.

"Okay, John. You're here. We're here. Nobody's going anywhere, so...we might as well make the best of it. I'll make up the couch for you to sleep on."

"Thanks, Joss," he said with a slight smile. "hey, are you tired?"

"Umm, no, not yet. It's only a little after nine."

"Got any good movies or shows in your collection?"

She grinned. "What, you don't know that already? I'm shocked."

"Nope. There are some things I leave to the imagination."

"Really? I'll bet."

"Oh, yes. Really...Detective." She heard it. She knew she heard it. His voice, capable of a few different octaves, registered much lower than normal. And what was with the pause when he referred to her? What exactly had he been leaving to the imagination where she was concerned, besides her movie collection?

She nervously rubbed her neck. _John Reese, don't play with me,_ she thought. _I'm not Zoe Morgan._

He stood up to his full height then, still staring at her, hot chocolate in hand, almost as if he'd read the direction of her thoughts—until he slowly circled the coffee table and helped himself to her wall unit of DVDs. He looked so natural, so in place, as he thumbed through, hemming and hawing, weighing one program over one movie after another, until he settled on her well-worn copy of "Gladiator." He turned to her with in between his fingers.

"Haven't seen this one in a long time. Do you want to watch this, Carter?"

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry. What was it about watching a movie with John, next to him, on her couch, in the dark on a snowy night that made her giddy in the belly?

"Uh, yeah, sure. I haven't seen it in a while, either. Umm...but listen, I wanna get cleaned up first. Like I said before, I'm just gonna go upstairs and take a quick shower. Change into my home clothes, you know..."

He paused before speaking again, the image of Joss in the shower, all wet and soapy, and then changing into her "home clothes" striking a most delicious chord within his body.

"Okay. We'll put the movie on when you're done."

"You hungry? I could make us some dinner for watching the movie. I only have frozen stuff at the moment, though. You know, like pasta meals, burritos, that kind of thing. My son and I lead microwave lives, unfortunately. The only time I get to cook and bake properly is at the holidays, so..." She wasn't sure why she was rambling. It was just John, after all. John, who she worked with on crazy cases with secret sources of information. Stubborn, secretive John, unorthodox John.

Sexy as hell John.

 _Damn. He was doing it to her._

"Mm hmm. That's fine, Carter," he replied. "We'll make the best of it, so long as the power stays on. "

"Yes. Yes, you're right. Um, I'm going for that shower right now. I can put together a kit for you if you want to get cleaned up later, or tomorrow too."

"No need. I already have one. And clothes."

"You think of everything, don't you?"

His eyes met hers at the stairwell. "No, Joss. Not everything. Go. Go on and take your shower. I'll be here...waiting for you."

She ran another hand through her hair again, and timidly scampered up the steps, leaving John to watch her go.

 **A/N: So movie night and dinner while the winds howl and the snow blows. Scented candles, wine, and Russell Crowe. Ahem. Thanks for the read of this chapter and be well, all. Stay tuned!**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Snowed in at the Carter brownstone continues. Thanks for the read, everyone.**

Joss reemerged from her bedroom forty-five minutes later to find John sitting as he had, in silence, TV off, lamplight dimmed, as still as if he had been asleep. It was only when she heard him speak that she realized he actually hadn't been asleep.

"Enjoy your shower, Detective?"

"Oh, yeah," she replied slightly startled. "Absolutely. Took the chill right out. Much better."

"Good. You look comfortable and cozy, at least," he replied looking up at her from the couch. She could make out a warm smile on his face, and she immediately relaxed at the sight. And yes, she was cozy—though it'd be hard to gauge that from what she was wearing. Her sleeveless orange tank top and dark blue leggings cuffed at the bottoms with legwarmers would seem anything but cozy in that weather. But for Joss, this was relaxed homewear, and she was dressed for those particular elements.

And nothing said 'relaxation' more than the sight of her tiny bare feet, soft and dainty, the toenails painted a dark red.

For John, she made an irresistable image. Her hair had been pinned up, but now spread fully over her head, cascading down mid-back length. She hadn't washed it in the shower. He could tell that from the distance on the stairs, just as he could the type of scent she was wearing, something like a mix of patchouli and lemon. It was a wonderful fragrance, which only heightened his attention to her. She was mostly nude faced, the only adornment to her face he could make out was a slight hint of gloss on her full lips. Her silver hooped earrings remained from earlier on. Quite frankly, she was an alluring picture from head to toe.

When hadn't she been? From the day he laid eyes on her in her police precinct, she had captured his attention physically and spiritually, leading by example through both the strength of her convictions and her badge. When he'd allowed himself to see her as the beautiful woman she was on the outside as well as the inside, he was even more drawn to the stalwart detective.

But John Reese was a professional. He didn't get involved that much. And even if she'd shown the slightest interest in him in a way that was other than platonic, there's no way he could have acted on that. Far too much was at stake. She had too much to lose. And he had been running on borrowed time for years. Sooner or later, that time was going to run out. What the hell could he have offered her, with his baggage?

Not a damn thing—but trouble.

Still, she was a vision in casual clothing. He wondered what she'd look like all dolled up to the nines, for a night on the town, the dowdy, regulated detective suit banned to the closet, if only for one that one night.

He sighed with his thoughts. He'd never find out, would he?

"You okay, John?" she asked, having picked up his sigh. Nothing got past her. She wasn't the best homicide cop at the 8th Precinct for nothing.

"Um hmm. Fine, Joss. Just maybe...a little hungry."

"Right," she replied. Touching her fingertips to a tendril of hair, she made strides towards the kitchen. "So what'll it be? Frozen Chicken Florintine or honey barbeque chicken strips with salad and instant mash?"

John smiled. "Those all sound really good. Which one goes with a good merlot?"

"You were roaming around again, huh, John? I'm surprised you didn't start dinner yourself, since you don't seem to need any permission."

"I wanted to wait for you, Detective. Besides, you have the strangest oven dial temps I've ever seen."

"No, just part of an old stove that a little boy found a way with where he could take the covers off the controls and turn them such a way that I could never get them back right again. I figured out what temps were which through lots of trial and error—and burnt meals. Served him right."

"Kids. Gotta love 'em," he said, almost wistfully.

That tone made her want to pry a little, made her want to sit down with him and have him tell her all about it. What were his thoughts on kids? On having a family? Had he ever tried, ever considered it? It was the interrogator in her, she thought. She was good at probing for answers. It's part of what made her such a good cop. But John knew her skills, and he only offered what he thought wouldn't make him emotionally vulnerable. Little did he realize that he revealed much through his not revealing much at all. At least to her, anyway.

She didn't pry though. Instead, she this time smoothed her hair back behind her ears and continued on toward the kitchen.

"How about that pasta? It will go with the merlot."

"Sounds good, Joss. I'm happy with whatever you want."

##

The microwave dinner for two took about fifteen minutes to heat up, so in the meanwhile, Joss indeed turned on her backward oven dial to pre-heat for an impromptu pan of brownies. John was quite the fan of them, and she had a box mix in the cupboard, as well as oil and eggs for the ingredients. John got out her large mixing bowl and wooden spoon, and the two of them worked together to create a cozy supper fit for two crime fighters who didn't get a chance to have home cooked supper the way normal people often did. They worked in partial silence, dumping things here, cracking eggs there, measuring oil, chopping bread, cubing tomatoes for salad, and more.

John was a rogue, a criminal wanted in four countries with an expunged record because the world thought he was dead—but at that moment, he was just a man mixing brownies for the oven in her kitchen. And he was beautiful. She had had that thought before. And she was having it again. Dressed in black jeans, black socks, and a black hoodie, he was larger than life in her kitchen—and yet, again, he was just a man making brownies.

"Pan, Joss?"

"Wha-what?" she asked, startled from her thoughts.

"A pan. For the brownies. Where can I find one?"

"Oh! Oh, right, a pan. Here. In this cupboard. Nine by nine-inch one there. Sorry I didn't tell you that before."

"You might have thought I already knew. I'm sorry for not saying I didn't."

"It's okay. How many times did you beat the mix?"

"Box says fifty strokes. I counted. In my head. I think I got it."

She took a peek at the bubbly brown mix. "Looks good. Edges too."

"Well, there we are, then. Into the pan it goes."

As John poured the mixture into the pan, Joss found the butter for their bread and two wine glasses. The kitchen was a bustle of activity and great aromas from the impending meal. They settled into their tasks. It was cool. But Joss still remembered why John had come to her in the first place.

"So how do you think the stiff is faring out in this?"

"With any luck, he's right where I left him." John had begun the clear up of egg shells and spilled chocolate from the mix. He didn't miss a beat. Of course not. How many men had he had to kill in his time? One was as much—or as little—a loss as any other.

"John, we'll have to deal with this."

He looked over at her then, stopping his chore. "You don't have to deal with anything, Detective. I'm not involving you."

"You _have_ involved me, John. You told me you left a body behind some run down hotel on Bleeker Street, and you're in my house. I should arrest you."

He stopped then, and looked at her square, his green eyes penetrating deep, hitting her hard. "Yeah. You probably should. But you know I did what I had to. Which is why you won't, why you never have. And you never will."

He turned his head then, in that way he would when he was done with a particular topic of conversation and left her there, picking up the items needed to turn the living room coffee table into a makeshift dining area, going straight to it.

She rubbed her neck as she watched him go. Damn it, he was right. She knew she'd never arrest him. It had all gone too far now. _She_ had gone too far. There was nothing to be done for it—except to watch Gladiator and eat.

##

Joss served their dinner plates on trays for two in the living room, while John got the DVD going. The storm raged on outside. At that point, the snow against the street lamps that hadn't blown out made it brighten in the dark of her space. Once the opening got underway, she lit a few vanilla candles in various part of the room, the cozy factor rising exponentially with her gesture.

John uncorked the merlot, pouring two glasses, which were ready by the time Joss was done with candle duty. She sat, then, and he turned for a toast.

"To...early winter storms, Detective. And good friends. Thank you for your hospitality. I mean that. I know this isn't the ideal situation, on multiple levels. I'm sorry."

She clinked her glass with his and smiled, with exhaled breath. "It's okay. And you're welcome, John. Cheers."

They dug in, while the brownies, still baking in the oven, offered the promise of sweet comfort to come.

##

"That was great, Detective. I'm properly stuffed. Mmmm," he purred in satisfaction, his head leaned back on the couch. Russell Crowe's Maximus had at that point just been taken into slavery. The action of Gladiator was just about to get good.

"Leave room for brownies, John. I'm gonna go take them out of the oven now."

"Oh, I wouldn't miss those for anything. Bring it on, Joss."

With a swish of her hair, she stood up and went to the kitchen. John allowed his attention to be taken from the film for a fleeting moment to watch her go. Her ass in those leggings wiggled and bounced in the most tantalizing of ways, and he let his thoughts go there. Let them go there for just a moment; to the way that might feel if he could touch, and more.

"Okay, brownies are done and cooling on the counter. There's ice cream, too, if you want," she said, upon returning.

"No. No, the brownie alone is fine."

"Okay, well, I'll have the ice cream with mine. Be right back."

She disappeared again, and John fell in once more with the film, even if her lemon-and-patchouli smell was still in his nostrils as she passed.

In a little while, she returned with two small dessert plates, one topped with ice cream, whipped cream and hot fudge and one plain. She also had, draped over her arm, a patchwork quilt.

John rasied his eyes. "You cold?

"No, I'm fine," she said. "but I thought you could use this to sleep with later. I'll fetch a pillow for you, too, at some point. Here's your brownie."

"Thank you," he said, motioning with the plate once he took it from her. "For the blanket as well."

John put the brownie on the tray, and instead stood up to open the fairly large quilt and spread it across Joss' lap, almost tucking her in with it. She nearly dropped her plate of brownie and ice cream.

"John, what are you doing? This is for you."

"I know. But you aren't wearing all that much, Joss. That wind is howling out there. Even with the best home heating, wind can be a sneaky adversary. Keep warm."

"John, I'm fine. If I were cold, I would put on a sweater."

"Humor me, Detective," he said, looking at the flat screen again. Maximus was now in battle with the tigers in the arena. It was one of his favorite scenes.

"Okay, I'll humor you. Happy now?"

"Very," he replied, nodding his head.

So they continued on with the rest of the film, with only one interruption for John. He decided that Joss' ice cream sundae looked better than his plain brownie after all, so he relented on some of the ice cream, but still declined the chocolate fudge. He washed down his dessert with more merlot, a warm feeling spreading throughout his belly.

That wasn't the only warmth he felt, however. About a half-hour or so before the credits would roll, John felt Joss' tiny body curl up in the crook of his chest, on the side of him, her frame fitting perfectly in the space provided. She had snuggled in with the quilt she'd gotten for him, and he could make out the hint of soft snores, adorable snores, coming from her about ten minutes later. Her tiny feet had disappeared under the quilt, and she was indeed a little ball of a lady, her face relaxed in sleep, a crumb or two of chocolate brownie visible on her dewy lips.

Suddenly, the urge to taste her was overwhelming. That urge always lingered under the surface, was always a presence, but at that moment he was nearly helpless in the face of it. God, she looked so sweet, so delicate. The fact that he knew her better than that only made her vulnerability all the sweeter—and all the more arousing.

 _Keep watching the damn movie, Reese. You know better. You know you can't have her like that. Just...watch the movie. Leave her alone. You've caused her enough trouble, haven't you?_

But when she stirred and moaned and wiggled her body against his, he couldn't keep that promise. At least not while she was still there, in that state, with him.

"Okay, sweetheart," he whispered hoarsely. "Time for bed."

He stood up and proceeded to gently pull her into his arms, the column of her neck exposed and her lips parted as she moaned tantilizingly in her sleep. Her breasts, strained against the taut fabric of the tank top, and his groin kicked furiously in response. But his brain resisted what his body wanted. This was Joss. His friend. His colleague. His moral compass. He wouldn't take advantage of her. He had already done that far too often as it was.

 _Get her upstairs to bed, Reese. For sleeping. Now._

And so, he did. With the light of the candles and the flat screen guiding him, he scooped her up in his arms, quilt in tow, and walked upstairs with her to bed, her head resting on his shoulder. When he placed her on the bed, she moaned again, and turned her head to the wall, away from him, her body so flush and gorgeous in the tank and leggings he had to look elsewhere, or else never leave.

He decided to head back downstairs then. He wouldn't even take the quilt, allowing her to stay just as she was. He'd be fine on the couch as he was. He'd certainly slept in far less hospitable places. Yes, she could have the quilt. He was afraid of what might happen if he tried to unwrap her from it.

Silently turning to head back downstairs, he crept softly to the living room, cleared the dinner and dessert dishes from the coffee table and shut off the flat screen.

It would be some time, and about four more glasses of merlot later, before John let the howling winds and spattering of frozen snow-rain lull him into sleep himself against the throw pillows of Joss' couch.

 **A/N: So they're both asleep at this point. But it's here where things will take a turn for the naughty. Stay tuned. And thanks.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: The sleep over continues. Enjoy, all.**

John woke from his sleep a few hours after he'd finally drifted off, the darkness of Joss' living room even more illuminated by the snow shine outside. For a second or two, he'd forgotten where he was, but the ticking clock on the mantle piece and the scent of lemon and patchouli quickly brought him back to his sense of place.

With a groan and a sleepy hand through his hair, he slowly sat up and realized he was still in his clothes. And the merlot, wonderful spirit that it was, had left him with a pretty unpleasant case of cotton mouth. A toothbrush was needed. That, and a walk around the place to shake off the slight buzz he still had. No lightweight when it came to drinking was he—but he'd slowed down on his alcohol intake a lot since connecting with Finch and Joss, and so four or five glasses of anything would at least buzz him up a bit.

He decided to get up and get himself cleaned up a little, so as to sleep properly. A home like Joss'-warm, cozy, and quiet—would afford him a rest that he didn't often have as the Man in the Suit. It was like a home should be, and a proper sleep was his to be had. Even with as groggy as he now felt, he knew that the past few hours had been preferable to any vigilante action he could have still seen, even in drifts the like that were being forecast. He wouldn't waste this if he could help it. For the reality of the streets most assuredly waited for him, waited for them both. After all, he had a body to answer for behind a raggedy hotel on Bleeker Street still, didn't he?

He rose from the couch, and with the lights still off, was able to find his duffle where he'd stashed it behind a leather loveseat across from the couch. There was enough snow glare for him to locate a faded gray army tee, a pair of sweat bottoms, and his toothbrush. She had only one bathroom in the brownstone, so he'd have to make his way up the steps, doing his best not to disturb the sleeping detective.

Upon reaching the bathroom, John flipped on the light and got a good look at himself in the mirror. His salt and pepper hair was unmoussed and its strands fell in messy locks about his head. He was still very tired and still slightly drunk, the light crimson in his wild green eyes telling him so. He could have also done with a shave, but since it was still overnight that would wait. A washcloth and his toothbrush would be his saving graces. They were enough.

After stripping his day clothes, he quickly replaced them with the tee shirt and the sweatpants, keeping his socks on. He then went for the sink, and as the water steamed out of the taps into the basin he cleaned his face with a blue cloth he found in her small cupboard. Soon, he switched to cold water and found the paste for brushing. John often found these necessary tasks monotonous, and so he often hummed little tunes to himself to get through them. Between the action of the toothbrush in his mouth and the humming, he almost missed it.

He almost didn't hear the sounds from around the corner. Joss' bedroom.

But he had heard them. And standing there, toothbrush and foam in his mouth, he stopped, his instincts, his fighter's spirit on alert. He froze, his eyes widened, his body stiffened for action. He steeled himself to wait a second longer. But only a second. Especially when the sounds coming from her room became more audible, much clearer to him in the bathroom.

" _No! No, no, no, no! Please, no! You can't! You can't hurt him! Please, no! Let go! No, no! Taylor! Taylor, no!"_

John quickly rinsed his mouth, spat into the sink and dropped the toothbrush, bolting from the bathroom straight to her. She was in trouble, somehow, and the blood ran hot in his veins at her cries. He practically burst the door in, and at the thundering sound, Joss bolted up and screamed, her body leaping and bouncing off the bed as she responded to both the intrusion and the fact that she was bound up in the quilt she'd given him to use earlier.

"Who is it? Who is it? Who's there? No! No! Get out! No..." She was frantic, tears streaming down her face, her body wracked with sobs. John was just able to catch her as she stumbled from the bed toward the door, and he'd never known a woman to fight him so hard as she had at that moment.

"No! Let go! Get offa me! No!"

"Joss! Hey, hey it's okay. It's me, Joss!" he pleaded. "Joss, it's okay...slow down...Joss!"

But she wouldn't slow down. She was like a demon posessed trying to free herself from him. When she hit him in the chin with her flailing fists, he knew he had to get her under control or she might hurt herself, if not him in the process. Using his entire upper torso, he wrapped his arms around her, holding her in a gentle vice grip until she stopped fighting.

"Carter, it's okay...it's okay. I'm here."

"John..."

Within a moment or two, his actions had done the trick. He held her close, loosening his grip little by little until he could feel her resistance slipping away, and she just let herself go limp against him, her tiny body only coming up as high as his mid chest. She sniffled and choked back further sobs.

Dismayed, John rationalized to himself that what he was feeling towards her at the moment—protectiveness, tenderness—was due in part to his second nature as a soldier. He'd thought she was being attacked. Knowing how many enemies Joss Carter had from her work as an NYPD detective both on and off the force, she was never out of danger, even though he had her back at all times. So what if there was a snowstorm that could shut the city down? Hadn't he had a number that very night in that very storm?

However, he knew how his body was responding to her as he held her, and that 'protectiveness' wasn't the only impulse on play there. The sound of her voice only added fuel to his fire—though what she had to say perplexed him.

"John...I need...I need to see my boy," she murmured through sniffles and quiet hiccups.

"Taylor?" he asked gently as he stroked her now messy hair. "But why? He's at your mother's out of this storm."

"I need to tell him...I need to tell him..."

"What? You need to tell him what? He's okay. He's at your mom's. He's safe, Carter. You'll see him soon. It's okay."

"No...no...he's just a baby," she continued, her crying more pronounced now. "He's my only baby. He...he...needs to know...that his mother loves him..."

John gently squeezed her body against him once more, placing his chin on her head. "He knows, Joss. He knows. You are the most amazng mother I've ever seen. I don't know how you do it, but you do. And he's a great kid—because of you."

He could feel her move to wrap her arms around him too. The sensation was indescribable.

"He's been so proud of me. He told me the other day."

"I'll bet he is," John whispered.

"I've been having dreams, John," she said. "Horrible dreams. Dreams where Taylor is hurt...because of me. And I'm just afraid...afraid that those dreams will someday come true. I couldn't stand it, John. He's my baby...my proudest accomplishment, out of all the others. I'm so afraid..."

"Shh...hey...don't be. Don't be afraid. You are strong and courageous, and nothing will happen to your boy. You love him. You protect him everyday. He's gonna be fine. And listen," he said, lifting his head in the dimmness to look directly at her, "you got me. I will do everything in my power to see that no harm comes to either one of you."

She smiled at him. "You have, John. In spades. Do I ever say 'thank you' enough?"

"No," he grinned. "But I won't hold it against you."

Another bead of silence passed between them before she spoke again—and said something that hit him completely out of left field.

"John?"

"Mmm hmm?"

"Would you do something for me?"

"Sure. Anything."

"Would you...would you stay with me? Just for a little while?"

For a second, he couldn't respond. The protector in him, who had already planned to at least camp out in front of her bedroom door for the duration, now engaged in an instantaneous battle with his brain who said he should have actually never come there in the first place. It was too risky. Far too risky.

But the protector won out. How could he not? This was Joss. And he'd already pledged his allegiance to her a million times over since the night he'd met her.

"Of course, Joss. I'm here if you need me."

##

Joss pulled back the heavy comforter and sheets properly this time, but then noticed, in the dimness, the quilt she had given John earlier.

"You weren't cold downstairs, John?" she sniffed.

"No. You fell asleep during Gladiator and I carried you up here, so you'd be a bit more comfortable. Just didn't take the quilt back. You were already snug as a bug. Didn't want to wake you."

"Oh," she replied quietly.

"Is there...uh...any side of the bed that you prefer, Joss? Because...I'm not—I mean, I'm not picky."

"No. The bed's big enough, I think, for us both. Sides never matter to me."

"Okay. Well, after you, Detective."

Joss quietly slipped into the bed, under the top sheet and comforter, while holding up the same for John to follow. When he did so, he was surprised to find that she saddled right up to him, nestling her tiny frame into the crook of his body. Instinctively, he extended his arms around her, his desire to protect her strong. The competent detective, with one of the best records on the force, certainly had her shit together; he had no doubt of that. But at the end of the day, she was a woman, a mother, a human being with fears like anyone else.

He would be there for her. Just as she had always been there for him. Just as she had been that night. He would keep her safe, if only from her own nightmares.

He pulled her closer, the warmth of her body and the warmth of the bedding the perfect combination.

"Better now, Joss?"

"Yes. Thank you, John."

"Anytime. Might as well make myself useful, since I crashed your place tonight."

"I'm glad you did."

"Me too."

He turned slightly, off his back to his side, so as to get a glimpse of her face in the semi darkness. Along with the snow glare, she kept a night light plugged in near the bed, which lit her with a soft glow. His fingers found their way to her hair again, to sweep away a few tendrils of loose strands. Her eyes remained closed, her breathing even. She was getting comfortable again.

"Mmmmm..." she moaned, turning her head into his fingers. He liked the sound. In fact, he loved it. He loved it so much, he wanted to see if she'd do it again.

His fingers tangled in her hair gently, and then found her skin. It was soft and smooth, her little nose pert and perfect.

"Mmmmmmm..." she repeated, the purr of satisfaction leveling off with a tilt of her head into the pillow. He could make out her lips, parted and moist, as well as the glint of silver in her earrings.

John sank down into the pillows for a better cuddle. He wanted to be close to her. He wanted her warmth as much as she wanted his comfort.

Joss responded to his move putting her arm between his to clutch his back. In contrast, John pulled her even closer, their breaths nearly mingling, the sweetness of hers more intoxicating than all the merlot in the world.

Soon, each touch, each movement inspired and equal and similar impulse from the other. Joss' moans and whimpers increased in frequency, and as John's body covered hers, the two of them soon gently tossed and turned against one another, their touches and caresses invoking more than just a need for comfort.

There was now sexual need. And John's need roared to life in ways he hadn't felt in years. Not even with Zoe.

He continued to whisper for her concern, but now his voice took on the timbre of the lover.

"You okay? Hmm?" he voiced softly, breathlessly. His chest rose and fell with desire, his breathing coming along with audible pants. He nuzzled her face, her hair, then her neck and upper chest. He craved her skin, her hair—all of her.

"Uh huh...yeah...mmmmm...John..."

"What is it, sweetheart?"

"Unexpected. But I'm so glad you're here. So glad..."

"I'm glad to be here. Glad to be with you. No one else I'd rather be with."

His hands and fingers began to roam across her body, over the tank, down her thighs and up again to find her face and lips. Finger and thumb traced the swollen bottom lip, disappearing just under the rim, and she moaned again at his touch. Her hands lost themselves in his hair. The comforter rose and fell with their movements, and John's body covered Joss' over and over again, the length of his chest, his thighs and legs—his dick—all of them she felt keenly. And the more she felt, the more her own need replaced the horror from before.

John sucked in a breath, and squeezed his eyes shut, before pulling her close to him yet again, and letting his body sink even further into hers. Jesus, he was going crazy. She was driving him crazy, and he was almost powerless to prevent it. Joss was his unofficial work partner. How would this end?

He knew how he wanted it to end. But that could make their work life complicated from there on out. Very complicated.

"I need to get out of this bed...I should go...I..." he murmured, not believing his own ears at what he was saying.

"Where you gonna go in this weather, John? I asked you stay. Please..."

He let go of the breath he was holding. The sound of his sigh resonated throughout the bedroom. "Joss...if I stay in this bed...you're very beautiful. But we do work together..."

"John, it's okay. It's better than okay, in fact. Just...don't go. Please..."

He pulled her down further into the bed, once again covering her body with an embrace. When he pulled up again, he caught her cheek in a kiss that soon found her mouth. Slowly taking possesion of her lips, his blood boiled in his veins and the more he felt her moist mouth on his own, the hotter the boil.

Soon, their mouths dueled in heat. Joss' moans became more profound, while John groaned in response.

The heat threatened to consume them both, and the only answer was to remove the barriers which held them. John rose up just enough to pull the tank over her head. In the dim light he could make out her small yet buxom breasts, the small dark nipples pert and inviting. Her belly was taut with toning and he bent to kiss her belly button before trailing his mouth up to one nipple to take it in.

"Aahhhhhh...aaahhhhh," she gasped in satisfaction.

After torturing that nipple, back and forth, in and out of his mouth, his tongue and teeth working in concert to send her over the edge, he switched to the other with an audible suck, and held him to it as she rubbed the former nipple to life.

"Delicious," he murmured before getting upon his haunches to reach underneath her to pull down the leggings and warmers. "I bet you're even more delicious here."

When the leggings were off, he slowly hooked his thumbs under her thong and pulled it down her legs until he had it completely off, sending it sailing across the room. All the while, he never took his eyes off her, studying her face in the darkness, his body looming like a human cobra.

"Spread your legs for me, Joss," he gently commanded. When she did as he asked, he smiled at her, his eyes silver, his smile feignt but sure.

Sliding downward, he slid out his tongue and let himself drink from her nectar, allowed himself to let go and let love happen. Joss soon let him know how well he did that, as her body climbed the steps of passion and sensation, her legs and thighs spreading wide and closing in her lust.

When the first orgasm hit, he moved to pull off his own clothing in a flash, and positioned himself to enter her.

"Ah!" they both exclaimed in unison at the contact. John moved. He moved slowly at first, both giving her a chance to get used to him, and giving himself a chance to keep some kind of control in light of just how _damned_ good she felt. He wasn't a man given to premature ejaculation—but Joss' heat was another story entirely. The sweet tightness drove him, coaxed and soothed him, and he wanted more of that. He wanted that balm of honey and love so badly.

He forgot himself. "Oh, babe...oh, babe...oh, yeah..." he repeated in his delirium, his hips now in slapping rhythm. Joss pressed her head back, her neck exposed, her mouth open. The gasps were silent, then guttural, then whimpering again. He continued, holding her legs in the V shape, pushing himself to his own release.

When it came, they both cried out. The bed creaked and groaned with the weight of their loving, and soon, with the exertion John put forth to pull out of her and get himself back to earth.

Joss' body slightly writhed with the sensation of having had John's love, and she continued to gasp until she, too, got her breathing under control.

"John..."

"Yeah?"

"Thank you again. I needed that. I needed you."

"I think we both did, sweetheart. I think we both did."

"You're a good man, John. No matter what."

John heard the roaring of the wind outside. It mirrored the roar of emotions in his own heart.

Pulling her close once more, he cradled her body in his.

"Shhh, Detective. Let's get some sleep."

"Good night, John."

'Night, Joss."

 **A/N: John, you're such a good man. See what you get for being so good? Maybe we'll see where they go from here. How far will Joss go with this new dynamic? Can she, considering who John is? After all, there's a body to consider on Bleeker Street.**

 **Thanks for reading. See you soon!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: John and Joss keep one another warm in her bed as the storm continues overnight. Hot times, guys.**

Joss awakened to the snow whiteness outside her window blinds, which made the bedroom appear as if daylight had dawned. But she had only drifted off for a few hours in John's arms before the call of nature made itself known in her bladder. Now, she was in serious danger of an accident if she didn't disentangle herself from such a warm, enveloping embrace.

He was something of a crushing sleeper; she was on her side at the point of opening her eyes, and immediately sensed his weight atop her, his snoring gentle though noticeable. He had draped his arm over her midriff, with a hand over her belly, his arm hair downy and smooth, while his thigh held her own thigh captive, the restraint resting in his tucked foot between her legs. She even noticed his semi-arousal, as the organ periodically pulsed and flexed against her bottom.

Even in sleep he had the mind of the vigilante, of the soldier, the one who did everything deliberately in service to being as efficient as possible. Between him and the warm quilts, it'd be a marvel if she was able to get free.

She hated to disturb him. She felt warm and safe, despite the restraint, but she had to get up and go to the toilet. And she had to do it soon.

Gently scooting and rooting under his arm, she was able to free her upper body easily; however, it was necessary to force John to turn on his back in order to free her leg and thigh. He did so, with a heavy sigh, eventually turning his head away from her, his chest rising and falling in steady rhythm, his salt and pepper hair falling in a lock over his forehead. And then, he was still again.

However, when she got back from the bathroom, she came to find him wide awake, the glint of his green-silver eyes, almost cat-like in their concentration, following her every move in the semi-darkness. Yes, ever the soldier.

She smiled, happy that he was there, glad to have been able to offer him a harbor in the tempest that raged outside. The snowy wind continued to howl and thrash around, and as she went over to look out of her closed blinds, the chill seeped through the small spaces of the glass panes. She shivered, and remembered her nakedness.

She knew he was still watching her. And after a moment of silence, she heard the light groan and then the creak of her mattress as he turned himself, a way to make it known officially that he was indeed awake. She covered her breasts with her forearms and walked back over to the bed.

"Hi," he said, wide awake, but with the heavy voice of relaxed sleepiness. "How did you sleep?"

"Good," she replied, while spreading out the top quilt. "It's still early. I just had to use the bathroom, that's all."

"It's very comfy here, Joss. I can't say I'm used to all this creature comfort.

"You need to change your habits, then, John," she teased.

"Mmm, maybe. Come here."

John opened his arms as she slid back into the warmth of her bed and under the covers. He returned to the gentle locking embrace. She could feel his weight behind her, the rise and fall of chest and belly—and ever stronger the pressure of his dick on her ass. He was fully erect now, the member pulsing and flexing, while he ever so faintly—but deliberately—pressed himself against her.

The effect on her was immediate, and she felt so free and wanton knowing how much of an effect she had on him. She slid lower into his embrace, deeper under the covers, and John followed her lead, pulling in for even closer contact. He groaned softly as his dick pressed harder into her backside.

Soon, Joss was on her back again, against the pillows, while John semi-rolled on top of her, his lips catching hold of hers for a kiss. He caressed her cheeks, her forehead, the tip of her nose, and then her lips before catching her bottom lip between his teeth and gently slipping his tongue into her mouth. She whimpered softly before snaking her arms around his back. Instinctively, her thighs spread under his weight, and she loosely locked her ankles underneath his buttocks.

Such a move made direct contact with her mound, and he nearly forced her legs apart futher in order to thrust without warning, without gentleness, so eager was he to be inside her. But they had time. He would savor this. He might not get another chance.

His lips and tongue dueled with hers until he could feel her nipples pressing against his chest. He had to taste them again. Lowering his body, he lapped and flicked with the wider part of his tongue against the darkend buds, over and over again, alternating with nipping teeth, until she was out of her mind in heat and need.

"Ohhmm, Jaaaaahhn," she purred. "Ooooooh...oooooh...yes..."

"Say it again...leave my name on those gorgeous lips..." he mumbled against her breast.

"Jaaaaahhn...Jaaaaahhhn...oh, God..."

"Want to touch you all night. Drive you crazy all night," he murmured softly, his voice a shade deeper than normal. To hear it so was electrifying for her, and she in turn began to ravish him with kisses of her own, nips and licks of her own. As she moved to caress his thick hair, John got an idea.

"Hey," he whispered, looking up at her. His eyes glowed sweet evil in the dim brightness of the nightlight. "Would you do something for me?"

"Mmm...what?" she answered.

"My friend down here. He'd...like to get to know another side of you, Joss. This side." He said this to her while fingering her mouth, and when it dawned on her after a second or so what he was asking for, she giggled, partly at him, partly in embarrasment.

It wasn't something she was averse to, however. And for John, not at all.

Wordlessly, she slid under the blankets while he rested on his forearms to allow her movement downward. When she hit pay dirt, a gasp of epic proportions escaped his lungs, expelling itself in a long, drawn out breath. And then again. And again. The breaths came shorter each time, with a sharp intake of breath between them. From the view of the window, his body made a moving cave of the blankets, the undulations moving the blankets off the two lovers as John reveled in the feel of her mouth and tongue on his most sensitive body part.

"Aaaahh," he exclaimed. "Aaaaah, Jesus...oh baby...oh baby, yeah...that's it...that's the way...all the way in your mouth...beautiful mouth...I wish I could see. I wish I could see me get lost in your mouth..."

She stopped for moment. "No...no, don't turn the light on. It's nice just like this. If we turn on the light...I might stop and think about what I'm doing...and I don't want to think right now. I just want to feel, John. Okay?"

John lie down on his side then, his erection at attention and protesting the loss of her warm wetness. But that wasn't to be for long. Pulling her towards and on top of him, she could see the silver lilt in his eyes, the depths of the desire she'd roused to life inside him.

"Continue," he commanded. "No lights. No thinking. Just continue."

So she did. And the two lovers writhed together in lust and need, Joss' mouth weaving spells of love magic through John's body. He found her hair and grabbed it; clutched her head only to find her breasts and nipples again with his fingertips, pinching and rolling the pebbled points back forth until she groaned and whimpered with him still in her mouth. Her thighs spread wide in desperation; the member in her mouth needed to be inside her body.

It was just as well. John wanted that too, the thought of coming in her mouth, while irresistably pleasant, not the thing that he desired most. He would leave his seed inside her womb. That was where, in his mind, in the deepest recesses of his thoughts, it belonged.

"Come here, Detective," he said before sliding down her body, leaving a trail of kisses on her belly and down further, until he found her heat again. In order to get the best taste, however, he hooked one of her legs, at the knee, over his shoulder. She was wide open and vulnerable to him now, her womanly scent potent and magical. He could barely wait to taste her again—and so, he didn't.

The wet smack of tongue and lips between her own lips, then inside her vagina, only to find her clit was more than she could bear after but a few moments, the orgasm bursting to life before spreading throughout her body. Her eyes squeezed shut, and she gritted her teeth in anticipation of the magic that was hers to claim. She jerked up and down, her head slid backward slowly, and she reached for the top of the bookcase to hold on as the waves crested and flowed, only to repeat the motion until she could catch her breath.

"Ohhhhhhhhh...dammit, Jaaahn," she exclaimed again, the accentuation of the vowels in his name a testiment to the skill she had rapidly discovered he possessed in pleasing her from head to toe.

And then, it was his turn. Unhooking her leg in his methodical way, he handled her as if they'd been making love forever. She was willing to go any way he wanted. He would take care of it all.

"Take me in you," he commanded. "Guide me, honey."

Joss did as she was asked, and at the entry point, John pressed himself slowly again, the head of his dick content to play coy at first—until Joss insisted on something more. She found her own nipples this time, and seductively, submissively, looked for his eyes in the dim light.

"John...please..."

"What do you want, baby?" he asked again, in that sexy deep voice. "What's the word? Hmm? What is that magic word?" He continued to press himself into her at the head, only to pull out again.

"Fuck," she replied.

In spite of himself, he laughed softly. "Okay. That'll do."

And her wish was his command. He pressed one more time, driving himself to the hilt. She moaned loudly and grabbed hold of his shoulders to steel herself, as well as get the full impact of his thrusts.

Once his rhythm was established, he thrust hard and repeatdly, and with the grind of his pelvis against her with each thrust, Joss found her body giving way to the hot sensations he elicited before when inside her. She got louder in her moans; her hips thrust as far as he would let them, and as she spun more out of control, he pressed her thigh back, opening her up even wider.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! OH! Ohhhmmmmmm..."

"God, Joss..." he joined in.

"I'm gonna come agaaaaaain...aaaaah...I'm...agaaaain...aah..!

"Let it go...let it go...Joss..."

But it would be him who would lose control first. His orgasm blasted through his body, and as it did so, he thrust harder, the groans of release filling the small bedroom, the bed creaking and thumping under their weight. Joss' own release soon followed and they were both breathless, helpless in the face of their desires and the power of the reward of mating.

"Oh, God...oh, God..oh, God," he repeated as his body came down from the heavens. They found each other for a kiss, their gasps mingling and fueling the other's, the reach for connection desperate.

When their storm had subsided, they held onto one another for several minutes as they composed themselves. The wind, a force they'd hardly noticed while in their own storm, howled and slammed against the window, causing the night light to flicker and cast warm shadows on the walls.

Soon, it was John's turn for the toilet. They grinned and chatted about for a moment, and then he rose to relieve himself. But it was then that Joss turned on the nightstand lamp, so that he might find his way without injury.

She was able to see him in the light in his nudity, and she decided that, while he wasn't the kind man she was normally attracted to in complexion, his body was a pleasant sight to behold. The salt and pepper hair was messy and unruly after she'd had her hands in it. He sported a bit of stubble on his chin. He walked with a broad back and tapered waist. There were the half moons of his ass. His muscular thighs and legs. And once he'd returned to her, she got a glimpse of the chest and belly. And what was down below? His dick, now at rest, was still impressive, justting out at her from a nest of dark, downy hairs, the veins smooth and blue, the head circumcized; the balls resting underneath. The fact that he still had his watch on was somehow even more sexy to her. He was that trained CIA killer, that vigilante—but there and then, he was a man. A beautiful, loving, gifted man.

"Penny for your thoughts, Detective," he said, watching her intently, a slight smirk on his serene face.

She grinned. Her hair had been put in a messy ponytail, and her earrings removed. She gave him yet one more quiet up-and-down.

"No thoughts, John." Putting her arms out towards him, she beckoned him closer.

"Come back to bed."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. Get in here. Or you'll freeze to death, what with that wind going on like that out there."

" Yes, it is rather intimidating. Okay. If you insist."

"I do insist. Hurry up."

With a smile, he climbed back into bed and reached for the lamp. It was still overnight.

Both of them dreaded it. The thing they knew was coming. The morning light. The reality. The business-as-usual.

The dead perp on Bleeker Street.

He cuddled up close to her. She enclosed him in her arms, like a mother might her child. He allowed himself to be cuddled, to be held—and loved.

"You're wonderful, Detective Carter. Sex with you is—"

"Not like it is with Zoe Morgan."

"Why do you bring her up now?"

"I don't know. I guess I thought you were...together."

"Zoe and I have a little arrangement. That's all. Besides, I'm not exactly the kind of man who would make love to another woman when I'm already seeing someone seriously. Not really my style."

"No?"

"No. Of course not."

"Why not? I mean, that's great and all. A good man can be hard to find, but why...?"

"Well, for one thing, I'm not in love with Zoe Morgan."

"Really? I mean-"

"Yes, really. Makes all the difference."

"Ah, I see. Okay." She would stop there, before she stepped completely off the precipice.

"Uh hmm. I hope you do, Joss," he replied in kind.

"Maybe, John."

"Uh huh."

"Okay."

"Hey," he said with a slight yawn. "No more bad dreams?"

"No. Not tonight anyway."

"Good. Get more rest, Detective."

"Sure. You, too, John. Good night."

Stroking his hair, Joss could feel the heaviness of sleep coming to claim her again. And it was good. He was good. That was enough, for the time being. It had to be.

The real world would screw it all up soon enough.

 **A/N: I may give this one more chap. The body on Bleeker needs to be covered, and that could give another dimension to the challenge of them getting over their issues in order to have a shot at something. John's pretty much told her how he feels about her, and she essentially opened the door to that by having him sleep with her. We shall see how it shakes. Hope everyone enjoyed all the smut, and stay tuned, haha!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Reality, after the storm. A short one. Thanks for reading after such a time away. :-)**

When Joss awakened, she found that the sun's rays beamed through the window blinds like laser beams, and with the glare of the snow that had fallen and blown across the landscape, she squinted and grimaced in the face of the new day. Her sheets and comforter had kept her warm and snug, and she momentarily allowed herself to contemplate—as she had certainly done several times before—what life would be like if she just chucked it all away and stayed in bed for the duration. No more hours and hours of paperwork, no more perps, no more blood and death. She could do it. She was a lawyer before she was a cop. A few freelance cases, some consulting work. Her mortgage would be paid and her son's private school fees would be paid from the comfort of her bed. Laptops and cell phones made all things possible. She could find a way to do it, if she wanted to.

What she couldn't find, in that moment, however, was John Reese. There was no aroma of breakfast or coffee, as it would have been his most presumptive style to help himself without her, no sound of television nor the electric razor, nor the shower water in her bathroom. In fact, beyond the sound of the clock ticking on her nightstand, the apartment was silent.

She sat up, her body still naked from the night before, the soreness in her thighs, back, the rawness in her private spots the strongest evidence remaining that he had been there, had been with her, and that she had been well and truly loved. Awakening yet again, after that second time, the unfamiliarlty of the bedding arrangements not allowing either one of them to sleep soundly, perhaps, they had made love once more, reaching for one another in the darkness, John's silver-lit eyes wet and desperate with desire. The pair loved one another fiercely, passsionately, their hands, mouths and bodies simply not able to get enough until they were breathlessly spent, and agreed that each one needed to try for a rest that was real, a rest that would sustain them in the light of that new day. They had attempted a chat beforehand, a chance at keeping the gravity of what had happened at bay; but after loving like that, it was too much to think about words and phrases that made sense. Sleep, then, was the only thing that would do; so they did, legs and arms entangled, sweaty brows connected to nuzzling lips.

Smoothing back a few locks of her hair, she sighed and looked around the room, not really focused on anything in particular, the events of the night before playing back in her mind like the flicker and whirr of a movie projector. As quickly as the images sped by, she saw and felt them all rather clearly: the way he had held her so gently before they ended up in her bed; the nuzzles and sighs they made as comfort turned to lust; the tickle of his lips and tongue against her breasts; the slight flounce of his hair, untreated with mousse, as he moved alongside her, above her, and beneath her; his long legs that so deftly manuevered her own to his bidding; his grin as he got out of her the desired response to his lover's skill; the way she pulled at his bottom lip with her teeth before sliding her tongue into his mouth. Everything played back in flashes, bits and pieces—but the silence of his absence permeated those visions. He was gone.

"Okay, John," she said, sighing. "I suppose I shouldn't expect anything different. A good-bye would have been nice though."

Rising from the bed to relieve herself in the bathroom, she headed to her closet for a satin robe and her slippers. Suddenly overcome with a touch of modesty, she donned the robe and belted it tightly. As she moved towards the door, however, the cellphone on the nightstand caught her attention.

It blinked a new message. From 'Unknown Contact.'

Picking it up with a touch of trepidation, she opened the message, only to smirk at its contents.

 _Thank you for your hospitality, and for a most incredible time last night._

 _A true port in the storm._

 _You were absolutely wonderful, in every way imaginable._

 _But you have to know that the last thing I'd ever want to do is hurt you._

 _Take care,_

 _John_

Running a full hand through her messy hair and sitting on the bed, after mulling it over for a second or two, she replied:

 _Why don't you let me be the judge of whether or not I'd be hurt?_

Joss left the phone on the nightstand and went ahead with the tasks of getting ready for what the world would bring to her plate that day. None of the perps in New York City would wait for her while she sorted through whatever feelings were bubbling up inside her because of John Reese. She just had to get on with things. Besides, she should be able to pick up Taylor, now that the snow was melting almost as fast as it fell. Knowing her child was safe and sound was all the peace she could hope for.

"Yeah, I gotta get it together," she said. "Gotta get it together. We'll deal with this later. Juice, coffee, toast and bacon. That's what's important now. And that stiff on Bleeker Street. And all the other stiffs in my jurisdiction."

She decided not to hide from herself the disappointment she felt, however, when, after having showered, dressed, and brushed, she checked her phone again and saw that there had been no return reply from a certain tall, dark vigilante who still had her body tingling in her shower, even in his absence. What good would pretending that she wasn't dying to know what he was thinking and feeling at that particular moment do? Even he'd been thinking of her as she had him?

"So much for being all concerned about my feelings, John," she said on a slow walk down the stairs to the living room, which she found was as neat and tidy as always, and that not a trace of his visit remained. Even _Gladiator_ had been taken out of the player and put back on the shelf, the remote controls placed on the coffee table just as he'd found them.

"Well, at least he cleaned up," she grinned, with a humor she didn't feel.

##

 **Two weeks later**

"Good work, boys. All the evidence we have to go on is in the bags; we can see where we go from here. Final reports are prepped as well," Detective Carter said to the team working on the Petrovich case.

So far, it looked to be open and shut—save for the fact that Joss was sitting on information about The Man in the Suit having played a role, and a little twist that none had been expecting, one that she doubted that even he knew about.

Then again, of course he knew. He and Finch knew everything. But she still had not heard from him after their night together. Save for a few perps wrapped up on the doorstep of the precinct, there had been little sign of John Reese. Even Fusco hadn't heard from him. If he had any feelings on the matter of a second shooter—or anything thing else—he wasn't letting her in on them.

"I know Cap wants what we have in order to bury this thing. Jesus, there has to be more to go on, Carter. Still no witnesses, but there's absolutely more to this case. Especially since we seem to have had two shooters on the job at once," Lt. Griggs chimed in.

"It's just crazy," Detective Wycoff replied. "Ballistics came back with the results of two types of bullet casings in the area, fired at similar times, but only one of those types was responsible for Petrovich's death. Different gun types. Different point positions. Just crazy. Who else could have been involved in this? Both shots couldn't have come from the same shooter."

"Well, the bullet that did it was indeed but from one of the guns, a clean shot," Joss replied, careful, as she had been not to give out too much information on her part, lest giving John away. "Perhaps the perp we were looking for wasn't even aware that he—or she—wasn't alone in this. According to time of death, it would have been in the thick of the snowstorm. It was coming down pretty heavy that afternoon. Back turned, visibility next to nil, anything's possible."

"But we still have no leads on who the other shooter could have been. And what exactly Petrovich was mixed up in to get killed. Without any other witnesses, save for the other player in this...no one even heard shots fired. And no one thought to take prints of foot impressions," Griggs replied.

"Snow would have covered them anyway," Joss replied. "But yes, we do know what he was mixed up in," Joss retorted. "He's one of Yogorov's boys, at least he was. Rap sheet not nearly as long as some of his other associates, at least not here, but long enough to know he was working with the wrong element."

"Russian military on this guy. We can't get anything out of Yogorov about what his exact ties to Petrovitch involved?"

"Nah, he has a solid alibi, out of the nasty storm like everyone else, none of his associates were in on this job, either. He's either completely clean or he cut Petrovitch loose before he got wind that he had been cut loose."

"Well, it's not a cold case, as far as I'm concerned, despite the wintry circumstances" Griggs said. "They may bag it as so in Evidence, but I'm gonna keep my eyes and ears open. See ya, Carter."

"See ya, Griggs. You do that. And if you do manage to get more info, let me know."

"Likewise, Detective. Have a good day."

Joss waked back to her desk and smoothed the faded material of her jeans with much steadier hands than she'd had over the past few days. She was glad that the investigation into Petrovich's death was turning up dead ends; the less that came up, the less likely the danger to John's freedom. But one thing was for certain: the bullet that came from Petrovich's skull in autopsy wasn't from John's gun. Where it came from would have to be reckoned with, and she would find out exactly who's gun it was—but knowing it wasn't his lifted a great weight off her shoulders.

And yes, he was aware. She knew he was, even if she hadn't heard from him. Given that he and Finch seemed to have ears all over the city, and especially in matters of police business, he would have to have known that the murder he believed he'd committed was not his to claim. But he was there, all the same. That was a piece of the puzzle that had to be guarded. She'd get to the bottom of it; but it was imperative that John stayed out of this one from then on.

Perhaps it was time to break the ice, on her end of things. If he was being squeamish, she would use this opportunity to help him with that, just info on the case, nothing else if he didn't want to go there. After all, it had taken her by surprise too, this explosion of feeling and passion between them.

She couldn't be mad at him for his silence, his distance. She understood if he needed some space. She just wished it didn't depress her so much. She missed him. His suit. His raspy voice that could change on a dime to deep and sensual. His odd jokes. His bad ass moves in the field. His way of looking at her, as if she were the only one in the room. Even his penchant for ticking her off with his unorthodox methods, she missed it all.

Joss picked up her phone and took a short walk out of the office down the hall. She didn't want Fusco, who sat across from her, as always, looking into her mouth while she spoke to "Wonderboy." She and he were on much better terms then than they had been initially, but her relationship with John had always been different to the one he had with Fusco. Now, it most certainly was. Nope. Definitely not a convo for his eyes nor ears.

Outside the office, she turned on her phone and went to the stored numbers' pad, connecting her with John. She took a deep breath as she heard it ring once, twice, three times before the click of reception sounded in her ear.

Joss had failed to watch where she was going consciously. The phone call, the possibility of hearing his voice—or not hearing it, if he were still ignoring her—occupied her attention so to the point that she didn't consider that the sparsely traveled corridor she went down was where all the vacant offices and storage rooms of the 8th Precinct were located.

"John?" she spoke, hesitantly. "Hi."

For a brief second, there was no answer back. "John?" she repeated.

"Hello, Detective," his voice said, slowly, quietly. She could hear him breathing.

"John," she repeated. "Listen, I know things are little weird with us, but I just wanted to-"

Joss' reflexes, after years of police training and work were great. But John Reese's were better. And in that instant, Joss Carter didn't stand a chance.

Before she could react and possibly defend herself, a hand had placed itself over her mouth, practically covering her face, while a strong arm covered her midriff and jerked her back into the darkness of a large closet. She could hear a door slam and lock behind her.

"Mmmf! Mmmmf!" she protested, now frantic to escape her predicament. She had a fuzzy thought about her phone and calling for help, but then that was out of the question. For one thing, her phone was now in the hands of the man of whom she was now prisoner.

In that moment, however, it dawned on her that she was in no danger. Pressed up against his chest, she knew that form anywhere, knew the smell of him anywhere. He breathed heavily, yet steadily, his lips exhaling warmth onto her hair before finding the crook of her neck.

"Wh-what are you doing?" she stammered, her terror now being replaced by a far more pleasurable sensation.

"Returning your phone call, Detective," John murmured sensually against her skin.

"John..." she breathed before gasping, as his fingers ran themselves over her thighs, only to find their way to her private place though the soft denim.

At the sound of his name, so sweetly uttered, he rapidly turned her around and captured her mouth with his own. There was no reprieve to be had, no let up. With each stroke of his lips and dart of his tongue, he grew bolder, more feverish in his desire. Joss answered him, as her own need threatened to consume her, and soon the storage room filled with the sounds of panting and whimpering from the both of them.

"I've missed you," she said, coming up for air while still meeting his kisses and embraces.

He slowed for a second, his forehead against hers. "I know. I'm sorry."

"Why?" she asked.

"I told you. I don't want to hurt you."

"And I told you to let me be the judge of that, John."

"So I saw. But I know me better than you do. And I could hurt you."

"You've never hurt me, John. If you wanted to, you certainly would have by now. In fact, I know you've done everything you could not to hurt me, and to keep others from doing the same."

"That's different, Joss. You know what I mean. I could break your heart. You're too wonderful a woman for that. But, you see, I was born a bastard, and a bastard I remain."

She grinned. "That's not true, John. I know better."

"It is. I've done horrible things. I keep my heart closed. It's just my way, Joss."

"So you'd rather take the easy way. Easy sex. Keep on with the likes of Zoe Morgan. Is that it, John?"

"No. That's not what I want. That's not who I want," he replied, his voice thickening with desire again.

"Then what do you want, John?"

"This. You." He lifted her up by bending down to catch her thighs, and turned so as to slam her back against the wall of the storage room, nearly knocking over an old file cabinet. Joss call out softly as he caught her lips again, his hands frantic across her body. She, in turn, was liquid fire, and there was not any part of her that was not in tune with him. Her own tongue caught his, and they wrestled and pulled and nipped and grunted and spoke words of need, so hot for one another that they might burn up if the lust wasn't sated soon.

But in that dingy storage room? No. John had a better idea.

"Sweetheart...come with me."

"What? Wh-where?" she stammered, unable to believe she could find her voice.

"My place. I'm not far. Come home with me. Let me love you in my home."

"But-but how? How you gonna get out of here without being seen?"

"Same way I got in, Joss. But that might be difficult for you. Meet me in the alley on the next block in fifteen minutes. That'll buy me a little time."

"My shift has a few more hours. Oh, God...but..."

"Don't worry about that. Just meet me in the alley. We need to talk..among other things."

"Yes, John. We do. We absolutely do. But first..."

He put her down and stroked her hair. They kissed once, twice, three times more before quickly disengaging. Heading back to the door, Joss took a deep breath, smoothed her clothing back in place and gave a quick sweep of the hallway before going back to her office, ostensibly to gather her things. Several moments later, John made his way out of the precinct and onto the streets again.

Joss indeed met him in that alley. And for the first time in weeks, she saw him. Saw his face. He was more beautiful than she'd remembered, the cold November weather giving him a ruggedness that on any other man would betray exhaustion. But not John. He was strong and adaptable and courageous.

They kissed again in the light of early afternoon before taking one another's hands and heading to his car. He had given her back her phone, which was a good thing, since she had to be sure to get a message to Taylor that she'd be working late after all.

 **A/N: Since this is an M-rated opus, one more chapter is in order, at least, for what happens once they get back to John's place. Wooohoo! That John Reese. Always thinking about what's good for someone else, instead of what he needs. And he needs Joss, body and soul. Well, we'll see what happens. Thanks for reading!**


End file.
